The great clock tower at the center of the square chimed noon; twelve strong, drawn-out beats from the iron and brick giant, each loud enough to make it impossible for Evelyn to hear what the short man in front of her was saying. She pretended to, and nodded interestedly while he spoke with increasing volume.
Finally, he said something and waited for a response. She put on a confused face, motioning for him to speak louder. He gestured fervently with his free hand, volume ever increasing, as she continued to urge him to louder and louder tones. He posed his question a final time, and as the twelfth beat began she shook her head, and gestured again.
“....perfectly crafted!” the final words came out as a scream as the last chime ended. She put her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. He gave a start, and seemed to draw into himself as all those within hearing looked at him like they would at a misbehaving child. He didn’t seem to realize that she had been the cause of his momentary embarrassment. Which made her smile even more. With a quick shrug he seemed to come back to himself and offered the blade to her: a foot and a half of Imperial steel, needle thin at the point and never wider than any two of her fingers. Too long to be a dagger, not quite long enough to be a sword, and the perfect size to fit unnoticed in the scabbard on the outside of her thigh.
She took it from him. Whatever else he had said, the sword was finely crafted - perfect would have been an overstatement - but she wouldn’t quibble after he had been able to make this for her on such short notice. It shone like only newly-forged Steel could, and felt very good in her hand.
“It will do nicely.” She brandished it impressively, before sheathing it in a heartsbreath with a motion that was far more complex than it actually was impressive. “Very nicely.” The man wasn’t impressed - he serviced some of the brightest young, second-rate noble duelists in the city, and so was well accustomed to ostentation - but she still gave him a striking smile and a small bow to finish. “May you find shelter and shade.” She bowed slightly lower. If this man wasn’t going to be impressed, she was at least going to have some fun. “May you always have a fire to rest beside.” Turning the flourish into a proffering gesture, she offered him three coins that previously hadn’t been in her hands - that motion was actually quite easy. “And may our next meeting find you healthier, happier, and wiser than this day.”
She held the coins in her outstretched hand, head down, with her overly-dramatic bow still perfectly positioned. It wasn’t a normal bow for a woman - that would have looked strange in a pair of pants and boots - yet neither was it a gentleman’s gesture. It was instead a thing of dirt, and horses and untamed wilderness. Something that was as foreign to this place as she still felt sometimes.
He had the same expression as before, when she finally met his eye. Maybe it was permanent. Terribly and unfortunately permanent. “Thank you, Mistress.” It had the hint of a question to it, as if he suspected that he was being mocked, but wasn’t sharp enough to figure out just how. She smiled again, turning to walk down the street without another word. She could almost pity a man that wasn’t even quick enough to keep up with an Outland’s woman.
She moved toward the center of the square, until she was on the fringe of the masses ringing the outside. The shops here in Dusty Willows were full - as, she suspected, most every store in the whole city was - creating a ring of people that left the center of the square strangely open. She squinted up at the clock tower which rose from the multi-colored paving stones a few dozen paces in front of her.
Five minutes after noon. She was never good with counting the days in hours. She knew how to do it, it just never made any sense to her; or seemed practical; or really necessary at all. It took more effort than she would like to admit to run the numbers in her head. That gave her 55 minutes till one o’clock: the arbitrarily named time of the day when she had to make sure she was back at the tavern. Just tell me to be there at midday. Everyone knows what midday means. After some quick estimation and guesswork, it seemed to her that 55 minutes should be just enough time to make her final stop and still get to the Stone Raven.
She left the square through the western gate, and plunged into the streets of Dusty Willows, which were haphazard, with sudden curves and cuts, awkward intersections, and unexpected dead ends, that could easily confuse the unwary, or probably that shopkeeper. The buildings were spaced randomly and had no consistent shape or size, although many had too-steep roofs on them. The dust here was far worse than it was back in the square, falling from the cliffs that loomed menacingly on both sides and seemed to push in on the houses that crowded up against them, till they spilled out into the streets themselves. The dust came in occasional large gusts, falling from the heights above in waves that caused men to pull scarves over the faces, or jump into doorways, when they came blowing down the street. Boys, if you think this is bad….
She took a series of quick turns, and finally came to a stop in front of a nondescript building that stuck out by several strides from the houses around it. This was the real reason that she had insisted their meeting be in Dusty Willows rather than one of the nicer areas of Londrium. She drew a deep breath and walked up to knock on the door.
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